


Love, Always

by adamwhatareyouevendoing



Category: James Bond (Classic movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Meeting, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamwhatareyouevendoing/pseuds/adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: Their line of work isn't suited to love. Somehow, they find it anyway.
Relationships: James Bond/Felix Leiter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Love, Always

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring moments from all classic Bond movies with my boy Felix (though forgive me for only a brief reference to Diamonds Are Forever, cause I'm not unearthing my deeply buried memories of that film just for this).
> 
> Basically, this is my 2020 in a fic. I am less of a person and more a vessel for James Bond trivia now.

Their first meeting, much like Bond himself, is tailored to perfection.

He’s a good agent, from Felix’s observations, if a little reckless on occasion. Instinct serves them well in this line of work. It makes the pleasure of catching him on the back foot even sweeter, and Felix presses close with his advantage, disarming.

Bond, to his credit, barely flinches. He handles the ignominy of being frisked with practised ease, unruffled and only mildly inconvenienced. Felix allows himself an appraising once-over, hidden behind his sunglasses. It’s always useful to know what the other side is bringing in terms of assets, and Bond is said to pack more than most.

Interesting, indeed.

He’s left Bond on the edge long enough, Felix decides, now that he has the measure of him. It’s as safe as it can be to drop his guard and make their introduction. Bond raises an intrigued eyebrow, sharp and suave, concern smoothing to amiable compliance within mere moments.

It’s easy to work with him, Felix soon comes to find. Natural, even, as though they’re two people cut from the same cloth. It ought to be surprising how quickly they fall into a pattern, where James will factor Felix into his plans without having to ask, knowing instinctively with glance alone that it’s appreciated. Something innate, almost intimate.

To be charmed by him would be unprofessional. To find him handsome would be unnecessary. Men like Bond have no business being found attractive by men like Felix. They’re already on the same side. There’s no benefit to using seduction for their own ends.

But once the relief of a successful operation is stripped away, adrenalin is all that remains. Adrenalin, and no outlet for it beyond the man staring out at the satin waves of the midnight sea, wearing one of Felix’s shirts as though he belongs in it.

It’s no surprise to find that this comes naturally, too.

* * *

Jobs on each other’s patches are too rare for them to settle into routine, but it becomes something of a habit between them. James’s tired voice on the end of the phone, a brief layover between operations and postmarks from seven different countries in half as many months.

And then, finally, a signal placing him in Miami Beach.

Felix waits only as long as it takes the official information to come through from London before hightailing it over to the hotel. He finds Bond lounging by the pool, enjoying the customary attentions of a buxom blonde.

That’s his James, all right.

It would almost seem a shame to interrupt his vacation, if not for the fact Felix hasn’t seen this much of Bond exposed to him in months—since Antigua, he thinks, or maybe Atlanta—and fully intends to make the most of it.

“I thought I’d find you in good hands,” he says wryly, fond despair laced with amusement that only intensifies when James rises to his feet, lithe and eager, dismissing the dame in favour of Felix’s company. “Man talk?” he quips. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

James pulls him closer under the pretence of straightening his tie. “That depends,” he says, slipping into a low register to conceal the words. “Are you here on business or pleasure?”

He doesn’t seem overly disappointed when Felix reluctantly shifts to the former, partly because he remains distracted by Bond’s physique as he does so. It’s not the most effective brief he’s ever given and James seems to know it.

They never quite find chance for the latter, this time.

* * *

They make up for it in Nassau, where James greets him with a fist and a kiss. His welcome needs a little work, but the apology is a technique Felix could get used to.

“Fine way to treat the CIA,” he murmurs, a milder echo of his disgruntled words from earlier. James’s lips have the ability to leave him breathless more than a punch to the gut ever could.

Information of such nature is highly classified, of course, excepting present company. Besides, he’s beginning to suspect that Bond might feel the same.

“Later,” James reminds him, dismissing any thoughts beyond his suggestive smile and the sartorial trail leading to the bed.

There is a new scar on his back, close to his spine. Felix brushes a careful fingertip over the faint bruising still marring the skin.

“Playing poker with a widow,” James remarks in answer to the unspoken question, skirting the edge of flippancy. Their lives are built of veiled lies and half-truths, but Felix cannot bring himself to begrudge the secrecy with Bond laid bare before him, as comfortable like this as he is in a three-piece suit.

On him, everything looks good.

* * *

From New York to New Orleans, Bond is nothing more than an apologetic voice on the end of the radio, leaving an endless trail of wreckage in his wake.

Felix is deftly dealing with the latest run of destruction when the man himself saunters into his hotel suite.

“Couldn’t resist a taste of the real action, darling?” James quips, pressing a quick kiss to Felix’s cheek as he passes in search of fresh clothes.

Felix puts a hand over the mouthpiece and shoots a level look in his direction. “A real mess is what it is, James,” he returns with wry exasperation, but there’s too much trust in the gesture to remain irritated for long.

Lesson one, after all. They keep no secrets of those things that can be shared.

It’s a form of knowledge, really, and always has been—a thread linking them together, despite the distance, whenever they are inevitably parted again. A message of sorts, bright as a beacon and just a touch more deadly. A way for James to share his status and location, and trust that Felix will find him.

He always does.

* * *

Felix makes the call to bring James into the arms dealing operation—purely in the interests of the service, of course. A swift infiltration will be easier with his cooperation.

Bond’s calm yet wary expression drops the moment he sees Felix, the taut line of his shoulders instantly relaxing. He sinks into a chair with the ease of someone who has just come home.

“Let’s talk shop,” James says, but doesn’t object when Felix draws closer to straddle his thighs. Nor does he put up any form of defence against the line of fierce kisses he trails from collarbone to jaw, tanned skin shifting beneath silk and gabardine.

They’ve rarely had chance, these past few years, to catch up on old times.

“By all means,” Felix murmurs, working James’s buttons between deft fingers. “Though I was planning to fill you in later.”

“I think your seduction technique needs work,” James returns, whiskey glass dangling leisurely from his fingertips as he quirks an eyebrow in interest.

“Perhaps,” Felix agrees mildly, trailing a triumphant hand towards his belt, “but you can’t argue with the results.”

* * *

James wears a grey suit and a proud smile to his wedding.

“You’re a lucky man,” he murmurs, low into Felix’s ear, close beside him at the altar. Their clasped hands linger as the rings pass between them.

He almost asked James, once, in the glittering haze of a Nevadan summer evening—a fleeting thought of exchanging the vast, bustling casino for a small white chapel, quiet and secluded—as though it was allowed.

Their line of work was never suited to love. Felix should have known better.

When he wakes, James is there to calm his rage and soothe his despair, his own cold anger simmering just below the surface, tempered by relief. Felix can see it in his white-knuckle grip of the bedsheet.

“I killed them,” James informs him coolly, steely gaze fixed on Felix’s stitches, hard and uncompromising. “Every single one of them who had a hand in this. Sanchez won’t be touching you again.”

“You sentimental fool,” Felix mutters gratefully, reaching out to cup James’s chin with his uninjured hand, careful of reopening old wounds. He ends up scuffing James’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb instead. “I’m a lucky man,” he adds, lightly.

James does not shed his guilt as easily as Felix would wish, his apologies close to falling apart at the seams. He secures Felix’s hand safely with his own, pressing and holding tight.

“All the times you’ve saved my life... I should’ve been able to return the favour,” he chokes, still unable to meet Felix’s eyes. “I thought you were dead, when I found you. I thought—”

“I know,” Felix says. James would never have broken the rules of engagement otherwise. “Let it go, now. Let go, James. We’ll be alright. Lesson two, remember?”

A smile pulls at James’s lips then, thin and tight, but it’s enough. Their gazes meet over joined hands.

“Till death us do part,” he vows.


End file.
